


Possession

by I_Gave_You_Fair_Warning



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Episode I: The Phantom Menace, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Genre: Bittersweet Ending (Heavy on the Bitter), Child Abuse, Grandpa Dooku, Graphic Depictions of Non-Con (Not the Child), Long-Term Imprisonment, M/M, Marked Underage Because Child Witnesses Something, Spouse Abuse, lots of sadness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-17
Updated: 2018-09-06
Packaged: 2019-02-16 00:21:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,547
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13042623
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/I_Gave_You_Fair_Warning/pseuds/I_Gave_You_Fair_Warning
Summary: When Maul recognizes his mate in the Theed Generator duel, futures end up twisted out of all recognition.





	1. Chapter 1

 

The saber kissed his neck, humming, threatening.

Obi-Wan had his hands up, empty, and the air lay still except for Obi-Wan's own heavy breaths.

He'd been beaten.

They both had.

Qui-Gon lay, run through, nearby—

And Obi-Wan's lightsaber, shattered in the fight, had fallen down the bottomless shaft.

A large part of Obi-Wan, fueled by adrenaline and grief, wanted to  _force_ the Sith to kill him. To die rather than give in.

But Qui-Gon still breathed, and perhaps— perhaps Obi-Wan could ease his journey into the afterlife.

“I will surrender,” Obi-Wan forced his mouth to say. “Please let me sit with him as he dies.”  
He wasn't expecting an assent, but he received one.

This wasn't the time to wonder about the reasons behind it, he had only moments left.

He cradled Qui-Gon's head, trying to still his own ragged breathing so he could hear Qui-Gon's.

“Obi-Wan, promise me you will train the boy.”  
One last thing he could do for his master? He would have agreed to  _anything,_ so he nodded his head in oath though he knew he would die in moments.

“He  _is_ the Chosen One— he  _will_ bring Balance. Train him.”

Obi-Wan caught his hand, squeezing it tight. “Rest, Master. It's alright.”

“Did you— defeat—”

“No.”

Fear filled Qui-Gon's eyes. “You need to run. He'll win if you don't.”

“He already has.”

Leather-gloved hands seized him, tearing him away.

“Obi-Wan!”

“Master! Stop, you said I could  _stay_ with him—”

 

* * *

 

When sent to kill Jedi, he hadn't been warned that one would smell so damn  _good._

That he would smell  _necessary._

The scent made him hesitate—

And when the Padawan asked to hold his Master, Maul agreed. It would give him time to consider this baffling turn of events.

_He's a Jedi. Jedi are for killing._

But something far more primal than the Sith code replied,  _He's a mate._

_He's_ your  _mate._

The scent intensified, became worse—

A need that had him in  _pain—_

Deciding he'd been nice enough, Maul dragged the creature away. It called the fallen one's saber.

Annoyed, Maul caught it in midair before the Padawan could, crushed it beneath his boot, and kicked the shards into the bottomless pit.

His mate seemed unwilling to submit.

Maul shoved him against the wall, hands tugging at his robes, trying to gain access to the Padawan's body—

He had the Jedi's hands pinned, so the damned light-user ignited  _Maul's own saber_ on  _Maul's belt_ with the Force. Light burns against his thigh had Maul growling in rage.

He'd meant to be gentle, but a mate who refused to submit must be  _made_ to submit.

He threw the Jedi on the floor, and the human lay stunned, eyes dazed—

Maul dropped on him like an avian of prey, the Force bringing pressure against the Jedi's windpipe.

Maul had yet to hear of someone who could use the Force without oxygen to the brain.

The older Jedi was begging, crying out to him, but it didn't matter.

Maul divested his mate of all clothing in order to demonstrate that he could do as he liked, and then claimed him with no preparation whatsoever.

 

* * *

 

Anakin had wrestled with the autopilot of the Naboo starfighter until R2 managed to switch it back to manual.

_Knowing_ Qui-Gon was in trouble— he couldn't tell _how_ he knew, he just _did_ — he turned the ship around and landed in the hanger.

He ran through the giant doors and followed his feeling of dread, edging out over walkways that fell away into nothingness below.

His Mom would have said they needed handrails. He felt pretty sure he agreed with her.

Voices were crying out somewhere ahead. Anakin edged closer, but his progress was halted every little while by red shields.

He crept closer to the wall before the last one, peering out, trying to see—

Qui-Gon's friend lay on the floor, face turned in Anakin's direction, but without seeing him. Anakin couldn't see more than his head, but Obi-Wan's head was sliding across the floor, just a little, forward and back, his fingers curled helplessly against the smooth surface.

Something was dying in his eyes.

Grunts from someone else told the rest of the story.

Anakin cowered back,  _knowing._

He'd seen this before.

He felt Obi-Wan's soul shattering in the Force, and it dragged tears to Anakin's eyes as he hid his face in his knees.

_I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry, I can't help— Mom said I have to hide— that when this happens I can't be seen—_

 

* * *

 

Obi-Wan fought until he came, his body unable to deal with the unwelcome assault. It struggled to find a way to survive, and offered orgasm as a solution.

The flood of chemicals in his bloodstream did little to counter the terror, humiliation, and grief.

His master was  _dying_ over there,  _watching—_

Stained by his own semen, Obi-Wan stopped struggling. He lay still and prayed for it to end.

The Sith's rhythm faltered as he came inside the Jedi, and as the zabrak's triumphant pleasure shattered through the Force, another bell tolled as well in Obi-Wan's mind.

Qui-Gon's death.

Silent tears streaked down Obi-Wan's face as the Sith pulled out of him. The dark one pulled Obi-Wan up to kneel, Qui-Gon's killer behind him the while. When an arm slid over his throat, Obi-Wan's hands came up to rest on it, but he didn't fight the pressure brought to bear.

Yes.

It was time to die now.

Death would receive no protest from Obi-Wan Kenobi, he was quite ready.

 

* * *

 

Maul stood, throwing the unconscious Jedi over his shoulder, and turned to go.

The red shields cycled through again, and Maul found a small boy cowering in the second segment, trying to escape to the third.

The child lit up the Force in a strange, bewildering way.

This  _had_ to be the boy the Jedi Master thought was Chosen.

Maul's hand snaked out and grabbed a tiny arm, towing the little one along behind him.

His ship had one confinement cell, so he put both of his captives in it and moved to the cockpit to observe them on the monitors.

Things were different now than they had been at the beginning of his mission.

For one, he wanted this Padawan.

_Needed_ . Needed the Padawan.

He'd never felt this way before, but the small, frail creature was  _his._

It wasn't something he was sure he understood, but he  _did_ know that Sidious would use this against him. Either Sidious would demand Maul give the Padawan up and kill him, just to deepen Maul's hatred of him, or he would be allowed to keep the Padawan, and Sidious would find other ways to use the little Jedi against him.

_I will not give him up._

So that left only one option.

According to the Rule of Two, Maul could only overthrow Sidious once he'd surpassed him. However, Sidious himself wasn't supposed to be training Maul as an apprentice. Sidious fully intended on working together with Maul to topple Plagueis, contrary to every tenet of the Sith ideal.

Maul wasn't anywhere near ready to overthrow Sidious, let alone Plagueis.

_But if my master does not believe in the Rule of Two..._

What should bind Maul to it?

Maul had the Chosen One in his grasp. Surely the Chosen One could overthrow the Sith'ari? Especially a Sith'ari who was no longer doing his  _job_ of embodying the Sith Code?

It would be years before the boy was ready...

But if Sidious had taught Maul one thing, it was how to play the long game.

It was time to tuck his prizes away in some secluded place.

 

* * *

 

Obi-Wan slowly came to, the first sense to return was the overwhelming impression of his own pain. Then came hearing, telling him he was in a moving ship. And then memory.

_No. Please._

Why couldn't he just die?

He discovered he'd been covered by something. Dragging his eyes open, he found it was Anakin's shirt. Worried blue eyes stared down at his.

_He saw me like this._

Shame and grief warred for supremacy.

_No child should have to see this._

“You couldn't help it,” Anakin spoke up.

Obi-Wan cringed.

“I saw you fight. You couldn't help it.”

_He saw me raped._

“I'm sorry,” Obi-Wan rasped, eyes falling shut again against it all.

Anakin sighed. “It's not the first time I've seen that happen.”

_My shields must be nothing._

“Still.” Obi-Wan tried to prevent the tears that flooded his eyes from escaping. “I'm sorry.”

A small hand pet his hair.

A sob escaped Obi-Wan, and in moments, he found himself weeping, a little boy lying down beside him and holding him through the wracking tears.

 

* * *

 

They were blindfolded when moved from the ship.

Obi-Wan had no idea where they'd been taken, the extent of his knowledge confined to the small suite of rooms that were now his prison.

A bedroom, a sand-floored training room, a refresher, and a sitting-room that opened into a small kitchen, separated only by a dining table.

That was it.

The Sith didn't trust droids around them.

He didn't trust living creatures there either.

Any cooking, cleaning, and washing to be done would have to be done by the two imprisoned.

It was the only thing that got Obi-Wan out of bed the next morning, and each one following— the imperative deep in his soul to not force the scared, lonely child to take care of them both.

Months stretched after the Sith dropped them off, and the two found some sort of routine. Tending their home, tending themselves, spending time each day trying to find some weakness, some way to escape.

Obi-Wan seized hold of the opportunity to fulfill his promise to his master, the only thing that made sense to him anymore. Anakin was vastly powerful in the Force, and under Obi-Wan's teaching he began to be able to direct that power.

 

* * *

 

In the end, it was a simple thing to keep the Padawan in line.

Kenobi, he was called.

Maul made it abundantly clear— demonstrated, even— that when Kenobi stepped out of line, the child suffered... and Kenobi was locked away from it for months.

By the end, Kenobi was on his knees begging to be allowed to return to his smaller companion.

After that, the misguided escape attempts stopped.

The reunion between the two was pathetic, the child flinging himself into the older's arms, both of them weeping and clinging to one another.

And when Maul tapped on the Padawan's shoulder and demanded he come to the bedroom, the Jedi gave no hint of protest.

It felt so good to take the Jedi's pain, to give himself pleasure surrounded by the Jedi's suffering...

To spill into him, mark him, force him to know he was nothing more than a possession now.

He would have to return more often.

Soon, it would be time to start the Chosen One's training.

Let the Jedi understand that the  _better_ he behaved...

_I'll let you keep caring for the boy, the way your master asked._

 

* * *

 

It was a too-common occurrence now.

Maul arriving, taking Anakin away for a few hours, leaving Obi-Wan to pace their cage and fear for preteen.

The Sith training had begun.

Just as common was Anakin returning to their rooms, weeping over what he had been made to do, what he  _felt,_ the darkness.

The only thing Obi-Wan could do was comfort him like a mother.

He hated himself for bending so thoroughly to Maul's wishes, but he  _couldn't_ be separated from Anakin again. Especially not now, where he was Anakin's only solidarity in light.

Maul forced the boy to tap into the dark, to torture and kill small creatures he'd brought home specifically for the purpose.

_Beat_ Anakin or burned him with his saber when the boy tried to refuse.

Threatened to hurt Obi-Wan more if he didn't comply.

So Anakin killed the animals. Anakin became acquainted with the dark.

And Anakin turned to Obi-Wan, horrified by what he was becoming.

Both of them fearing the day Maul would try to force him to kill a person.

 

* * *

 

Anakin was twelve the day that Maul flew into a rage in their rooms.

It had been a mistake. One Anakin had made before in his saber form in their cage's dojo, one he was trying  _very hard_ to cure, but Maul had no forgiveness,  _none_ —

Anakin thought for sure he was going to die.

He was more terrified that Obi-Wan would intervene, would die instead—

But his master, his  _true_ master, did something neither Anakin nor the Sith anticipated.

He let out a lascivious moan.

Maul's fist, pulled back to strike Anakin again, hesitated, and his head turned in bewilderment.

Sheer shock left him forgetting about Anakin.

Obi-Wan lay naked on the couch, fingers up his ass and around his cock.

Anakin looked away,  _hating_ it, hating  _himself—_

Obi-Wan writhed, gasping—

Maul left Anakin to take Obi-Wan right there on the couch.

Anakin slunk into the bedroom, closing the door, trying to drown out the sounds of Maul's single-minded focus and Obi-Wan's pained cries.

Back against the far wall, knees drawn up, hands settled over his ears, Anakin shivered.

He felt so grateful for Obi-Wan's intervention, so relieved Maul had forgotten Anakin for the moment—

It  _disgusted_ him.

_I should be out there fighting for Obi-Wan, protecting him._

_Instead, I make mistakes, Maul gets angry, and Obi-Wan suffers._

He promised himself then that he would  _not_ make any more mistakes. He was going to please Maul to the best of his abilities, he was going to make this—

Obi-Wan screamed in agony—

—stop, and never happen again.

Tears rolled down his cheeks as he tried to block out the terrible twisting in the Force.

One day he was going to be powerful enough to kill Maul, and then he would take his Obi-Wan out of this hell.

_We'll have a little house, and I'll take care of him until the end of his days._

_And nothing will ever hurt him again._

 

* * *

 

Obi-Wan lay on the floor where he'd been left.

His desperate ploy had worked.

Now he couldn't move, wasn't sure he wanted to.

The door slid open, and soft footsteps pattered to his side.

Gentle fingers ran a damp cloth over his legs, cleaning away the signs of the most recent violation.

Obi-Wan closed his eyes and gave up.

This was his life.

It was becoming hard to resist the idea that this had always been his life.

Even more insidious, the third thought...

This would forever be his life.

 

* * *

 

Anakin had pushed too far.

The fifteen-year-old boy lay on his stomach, shivering in agony as Obi-Wan cleaned the gashes across his back, left by a merciless whip.

“Why did you attack him?” Obi-Wan asked, his voice barely more than a whisper.

Anakin buried his face in the bed's single pillow, wincing as the rag tugged at ragged skin. “He was taunting you with Qui-Gon's death,  _while_ he raped you. I just couldn't stand it anymore.”

His master's fingers didn't falter, but silence stretched long.

“Just take it off. The collar.”

Obi-Wan's breath caught, not quite a gasp, but noticeable all the same.

“You could help me manage the pain, you could heal the worst of this. It's not like I really know how, and how can a teacher who can't touch the Force teach anything?”

The fingers stilled. “You want him to take me from you again?”

“I want you to  _fight back._ ” Anakin turned his head to try to see Obi-Wan's face, and through a grieved blush, the man nodded.

“I know. But do you realize that when we were housed separately he still... I couldn't fend him off. I fought him. He still... every time.”  
Anakin fell silent, his anger still  _there,_ but Obi-Wan was right.

_I can't ask him to face that alone._

“At least here, we have each other,” Obi-Wan murmured, returning to his ministrations. “You help me through the worst of it, and I can help you.”  
The anger vanished into pure despair. “Is that what we're going to do for the rest of our lives?”

“No. One of these days he's going to take you out of here completely. He's training you to overthrow his master. And Anakin, the more broken, the more content he  _thinks_ us, the more likely he is to underestimate us. To continue pushing him only keeps him high alert. We're going to need a little less scrutiny when we go to make our move.”

Anakin let out a growl. “That's  _years,_ Obi-Wan.”  
“Isn't it better to work for years on a plan that has a chance of succeeding, or is it better to beat our wings against the cage to prove to ourselves and our captor we're not weak? Being underestimated and despised as weak can be power in this situation, Anakin. It's our  _only_ power. That, and patience to match and surpass his. He's wiling to wait for years to make his move. There is little point in us failing because we aren't willing to do the same for freedom. Now, please... try to relieve your pain.”

“It's not easy, trying to go off your descriptions of how it's done, when you can't  _show_ me.”  
“I know, I'm sorry.” Anakin could hear tears in that voice— “I have faith in you. You'll figure it out. Please try again.”

So he did.

 

* * *

 

It wasn't easy to watch Obi-Wan begin to feign affection for the Sith who enslaved them.

Obi-Wan had to endure Anakin screaming at him for nearly half an hour straight when Obi-Wan warned him this was what he intended to try.

It felt  _wrong._ It felt like giving in.

The fact that Maul treated Obi-Wan a little bit better now... prepared him before coupling... that he hadn't hit him in a month...

Anakin felt torn between wanting to be relieved, and  _despising_ Obi-Wan for walking such a path.

“The more comfortable he is, the less on guard he becomes. We'll need that, Anakin. And if it's possible for him to love, if we can lure him into falling in love with me, it would make a universe of difference.”

_You're wooing the man who rapes you._

It felt  _worse_ than wrong, it felt  _weak._

_It feels like you've stopped fighting._

Though...

Obi-Wan seemed more alive now than before. Before, Anakin hadn't been sure Obi-Wan wouldn't just  _die_ on him. His only interest in life had been patching Anakin back together and protecting him as best as he could while trying to teach him something he could no longer touch.

But  _this..._

There were moments Anakin feared Obi-Wan was falling for the Sith, his subtle performance was so convincing. It began with the smallest of changes. Nothing fast enough to make the Sith suspicious.

Less show of unwillingness to accept his advances. Less trying to stifle his response to the signals his body promised were pleasure when his mind knew they were something else entirely.

The day Maul paused before leaving in order to plant a rough kiss against Obi-Wan's lips was a day that Anakin felt  _sick,_ and he wasn't sure whether the flicker of crafty triumph in his master's eyes afterwards made it  _better_ or  _worse._

Instead of trying to negate his attractiveness to their captor, Obi-Wan weaponized it.

There came an evening when none of the noises from the bedroom included those induced by pain.

Anakin practiced his saber forms in the sand-strewn circular room with the harmless stick he was allowed to keep for the purpose, trying to drive the moans from his ears with the steady pound of his feet and the burn in his muscles.

_Don't fall for him. Please don't fall for him._

It felt like a betrayal.

_It's not. It's not, it's part of fighting back._

_It's got him scheming, thinking,_ living  _again, to lay traps for Maul._

_It's up to me to get strong, up to him to weaken Maul._

_We'll get out of here. We'll survive this, get the hell out of here, and kill Maul and his master and anyone else who tries to touch us again._

Maul didn't leave that night.

Instead, he slept by Obi-Wan's side while Anakin took the couch.

Lying there in the dark, Anakin had to admit that Obi-Wan's strategy might have long-term effects, if he didn't take it too fast.

_He's never slept in our presence before._

Anakin knew better than to think the Sith had truly relaxed his guard...

_But he's taken a step towards that._

Obi-Wan's siren's song was apparently deadly.

Anakin just hoped he wouldn't succumb to his own hypnosis.

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to TiBun, who let me use words to meander and discover the shape of the chapter by long (! I didn't realize how long I rambled until I copied them into my word document to turn it into story) tumblr chat monologues. Without that opportunity to just let my brain go where it would and string one idea to the next, this chapter would not be ready now. So thank TiBun.

 

The lights were out, Anakin banished to the couch, and Obi-Wan snuggled with his head resting on Maul's chest when the Sith Lord spoke.

“He is ready.”  
Obi-Wan's heart lunged into his throat. _Oh, oh, Force._ “Together you can defeat Sidious?”

“We have to be, and our window of opportunity will open and then snap shut again swiftly. I will take him with me to Coruscant, and you will wait here.”  
_No. No, nonono—_ “And if something unexpected happens?” Obi-Wan whispered, tightening his arm around Maul's side. “And you don't come back?”

“Have faith, little mate. You know I have skill.”

Obi-Wan closed his eyes, swallowed down the grief and mess of reactions he went through whenever he thought of that day on Naboo. He couldn't afford for Maul to sense any of it, not now.

So instead he thought about Anakin's progress. How under Maul's ruthless— but competent— guidance, he was turning into death given form. Obi-Wan watched him train and experienced both awe and fear.

Awe, because perhaps Qui-Gon had been right. Perhaps Anakin  _was_ the Chosen One. Power that lunged to bend to his will, no effort required, and now that he had skill and focus to wield it, and saber technique that had surpassed what Obi-Wan had been capable of, thirteen years earlier...

Obi-Wan didn't know if Qui-Gon would be proud of Anakin or not, but he thought he would. Thought he  _should._ Anakin was by no means unscathed or unshaped, but he was still trying to hold on to some goodness, some decency, even when Maul beat the kark out of him for it, screaming that weakness would get them  _all_ killed, Maul, Apprentice, and Mate.

And that was why Obi-Wan watched his precious Anakin with fear as well.

Because something in Anakin called to the darkness within Maul, craved it.

Matched it, hate for hate.

And while Anakin had done what he needed to in order to survive, to simply  _live,_ to not be whipped to the bone with the hilt of a lightsaber...

Obi-Wan feared the day Anakin finally regained freedom. Not because he feared what Anakin might do, but because he feared that he, that they  _both,_ had adapted  _too far_ to survive  _this one_ environment. That perhaps they'd used up the ability to adapt.

What if, after they endured so long, and  _finally_ found escape—

What if they couldn't adapt to freedom?

“Have a little faith in your kit,” Maul murmured, not even recognizing that Obi-Wan  _needed_ those words for a different reason that the Sith Lord supposed.

But Obi-Wan  _did_ need those words. He let out a shaking sigh, felt Maul's thumb stroking between his shoulderblades, and Obi-Wan felt his body relaxing, calming at the touch.

Obi-Wan knew better than to argue to come with. Not only would it  _not_ be taken well, but even if the collar came off now, and a saber was put in his hand, he'd be so overwhelmed by the Force that he would be utterly useless in a fight.

And without the Force...

He certainly wasn't good enough to be of help in a fight against Sidious.

He would have to wait and hope Maul was right.

_Oh, Force, let him be right._

 

* * *

 

The Works, Maul called it.

Anakin had a few opportunities to try to kill Maul on the way there, but he waited.

Sidious was a being that scared  _Maul._

A being that scared Maul was not a being that Anakin could allow to be in the same universe with Obi-Wan.

Maul had trained the hesitance to kill out of him. First animals, then people— Anakin would not freeze up if he had an opening to take out Sidious.

The man would be dead.

And then he would see about Maul.

 

* * *

 

Maul experienced a jolt of pure terror when they entered Sidious' lair, to find Sidious standing with his hand fisted in  _Maul's mate's_ long hair, the head tilted back, throat exposed.

Maul froze, the kit's fear made a thunderclap in the Force, and the mate looked grim.

“You fool,” Sidious scoffed, looking delighted with himself. “You thought you could do  _anything_ without my  _foreseeing_ it?”

Grievous and Dooku entered from behind Sidious, drawing sabers and exuding confidence.

The kit at Maul's side quailed, but only in spirit, and then he gripped the saber he'd made under Maul's guidance, lifted his chin in defiance, and braced.

 

* * *

 

The hand in his hair hurt, but Obi-Wan knew from recent experience that other things Sidious did hurt  _worse,_ so he kept still for the time being.

It was clear the only being present who was  _not_ surprised was Maul, when three more people stepped in behind the zabrak.

Obi-Wan hadn't been able to twist around to see who had joined Sidious, but there were at least two, and now Maul had arrayed around him another zabrak, a  _huge_ male who bore a little resemblance to Maul in the bones of his face, and two—

Two  _witches_ of Dathomir. Obi-Wan's eyes went wide and his heart pattered frantically in his throat.

When, a few years prior, Obi-Wan had asked Maul to teach him about Maul's people and way of life, Maul at that time  _hadn't_ been in touch with his people. He'd brought Obi-Wan files and books to read, and Obi-Wan had devoured them, learning how Maul's brain worked, and Maul had been pleased Obi-Wan took his mate status so very seriously.

_And he decided to take his own heritage seriously too._ Apparently.

One witch was simply dressed as a sister, bald with pale blue eyes, purple tattoos, and Sith-made lightsabers with curved hilts, like Master Dooku used to favor. The other had the robes of a matriarch, and Obi-Wan's blood chilled in his bones because he knew what such a powerful being was capable of doing.

And here he was, all but crippled and blind in a room full of killing machines.

_Maybe Anakin will survive._

But this was going to turn into a bloodbath.

There was no waiting for discussion or threats. Sidious threw Obi-Wan on the floor and leaped into battle, joined by a massive—  _droid?—_ with  _four_ arms and  _four_ lightsabers.

Obi-Wan scrabbled backwards, trying to get out of the way, and then a shadow fell over him.

He looked up in panic.

 

* * *

 

When Dooku entered, Sidious had Maul's pet by the copper hair. Dooku thought nothing of it until he moved to join the battle only to have the Force tug at him, insistent and desperate, and using Qui-Gon's voice.

He turned to the pet, and felt the axis of the world shift beneath him.

“Obi-Wan?” he asked, moving closer.

Terrified eyes lifted to his, a  _Force-suppressing collar_ was latched around his throat, and from the condition of his neck, the healed scarring and the  _calluses—_

It had been there a long time. 

Maul's locked-up  _frip toy_ had been Qui-Gon's beloved child?

Rage and horror, cold and clear, burned through Dooku's blood.

Sidious had known for  _years,_ had not  _told_ Dooku, and Dooku's  _grandpadawan_ had been tormented for  _over a decade_ because Dooku thought he was  _dead._

Dooku wouldn't be helping Sidious survive, today.

His loyalties had an earlier, and far stronger, bond to address.

“Grandmaster?” Obi-Wan asked, bewildered, staring into Dooku's golden eyes.

Dooku hated the fear that replaced the confusion, the conclusion Obi-Wan must have come to, that Dooku was one of  _them,_ that maybe he'd even  _known,_ and had  _left_ him there _—_

But for now, Dooku moved them both back from the raging battle, and Dooku stood guard to make sure nothing happened to Obi-Wan.

 

* * *

 

The terrifying droid and the Sith Master no longer had the upper hand.

They were fighting for their lives, now.

Obi-Wan stood beside Dooku, watching, but none of it felt  _real._ Not the flaring of sabers, or the creeping of green magicks, not the yells, curses, hissing, and maniacal laughter. 

Dooku was Sith. Anakin was glorious, like a terrifying god.

And Maul?  
Maul was focused and beautiful.

Obi-Wan closed his eyes, dragged in a ragged breath.

His goals, when Anakin and Maul left earlier that morning, before Sidious had slunk in and caught Obi-Wan unawares, had been for both his Sith to come home.

Now? In the face of a battle that by all rights should have been scaring the kark out of Obi-Wan, he wasn't at all sure what his goals were anymore. They were shifting.

The droid was exploded into shrapnel by an incantation of the Mother.

As metal sparked and slid by Obi-Wan, he crouched down and caught up a small scrap with a sharp, jagged edge. Dooku glanced at him, but didn't seem at all concerned.

Perhaps that meant he didn't mean Obi-Wan any harm?

Obi-Wan didn't know. It had been too long. The line between friend and foe in this room was too terrifyingly blurry.

Obi-Wan ripped a strip of fabric from his shirt, wrapped it around an end of the droid piece, and then concealed it.

Dooku looked at him again, worried, horrified, hurting—

Obi-Wan couldn't bear his gaze. _You know what I've been turned into. You're wondering what Qui-Gon would say if he could see me now._

Footsteps echoed somewhere, and more bodies rushed in right as Anakin sank his blade to the hilt through Sidious' chest.

Obi-Wan's breath caught, with hope and disappointment alike—

Maybe they could survive, but with Sidious dead and so  _many_ still with Maul...

Escape was still so far away.

Obi-Wan tried to swallow the rising desperation, despair, and panic in his throat. He had to think. Had to be ready, if  _any_ opportunity—

They were  _Jedi_ coming in the door! The robes—

Dooku was shoving him in the direction of another door,  _herding_ him away—

“ _Anakin!_ ”

 

* * *

 

Anakin had been ready to turn on Maul, in spite of the witches and the green zabrak when he heard Obi-Wan call out for him.

The Sith who didn't take part in the fight was trying to take Obi-Wan away!

Killing Maul would have to happen another time, because Anakin and the man he hated  _so much_ moved as one to wrench Obi-Wan from the clutches of the old creature who had  _no right to him!_ He was  _Anakin's—_

 

* * *

 

Dooku was about to abscond with Maul's mate.

That was unacceptable.

Ventress felt fury surge through her.

It was... unusual, to have a male be the dominant in the home, but Maul was Dathomiri, and the line of Sidious had fripped Dathomir over  _too many times_ to count. So if Sidious' final whelp thought to  _steal_ something  _more_ from a child of Dathomir?

He had another think coming.

 

* * *

 

Anakin Force-pulled Obi-Wan away from the old Sith, and Maul caught him close while Anakin placed himself between the two and the man with the curved saber.

A noise had Anakin glancing back, but that one glance wasn't enough to truly make sense of what was happening.

 

* * *

 

Maul had Obi-Wan pulled to his left side so his saber arm was free. One strong arm was around Obi-Wan, keeping him tight to Maul's side.

Maul certainly wasn't looking at Obi-Wan, but at the Jedi near the door.

It was the moment of opportunity.

Obi-Wan felt a ping of uncertainty and regret, but did not let them stop him as he slipped his improvised weapon between Maul's ribs and into one heart. A shudder passed through the zabrak, a wet, choked in breath—

Maul turned bewildered eyes to his mate, the one beneath his defenses because he'd been trying to  _protect_ him—

_Oh, Force, oh, Force—_

The betrayal, the  _hurt_ in those golden eyes—

Obi-Wan pulled away, and Maul fell to the floor, but Obi-Wan couldn't breathe, and he couldn't see. He thought for a moment someone was choking him, then realized he was  _crying._

He crashed to his knees, and _Force_ it didn't feel good, it didn't feel just, it felt horrible and vile and it hurt, hurt, hurt—

Obi-Wan lunged in, pressed fevered lips to Maul's, even knowing Maul could impale him, right here, could make all of this for  _naught—_

But he didn't, and Obi-Wan knew  _why_ he didn't, and it left Obi-Wan feeling like a betrayer, something vile and why did it feel like he was losing someone he loved?

Maul's eyes went vacant, and Obi-Wan eased his head to the floor before looking up.

He found Dooku watching him with understanding, Anakin with shock, too stunned and trying to process. Maul's people had fled, and the Jedi still stood in the doorway, waiting and watching.

Obi-Wan was not surprised the Jedi had let the Dathomiri leave through one of the many tunnels. The Order didn't have a quarrel with the Night clans, and the Nightsisters and Brother had come for a being who was clearly a Sith, and who was also clearly dead.

 

* * *

 

Obi-Wan's heart was shattered in little pieces. He was suffering.

It made Dooku's heart ache to sense it. There was also a hunger when Obi-Wan looked to the Jedi, a near-hysterical need.

A wounded child, just wanting to go _home._

_If we start fighting..._

Someone would end up dead. Maybe a Jedi, maybe Dooku, maybe the tall creature with fair curls, maybe more than one—

Any way it went, it would break Obi-Wan's heart.

“With the death of Darth Sidious, who you knew as Chancellor Palpatine, I remain the last of the Separatist leadership,” Dooku announced.

Mace wrenched his horrified, stunned gaze from Obi-Wan's face and forced it to Dooku's.

“As a gesture of goodwill, I will open peace negotiations with the Republic, involving a cessation of all fighting, with the intent of a mutual separation. I have just found Obi-Wan, after believing him dead since Naboo, and Sidious' plans no longer matter, with him dead.”

Obi-Wan's lonely, bewildered glance in the direction of the Jedi had struck a chord in Doou's soul. Much as he craved the darkness that had sunk its claws in him early, Dooku was tired of killing people he cared about to amass power.

He _missed_ Yoda, and Obi-Wan needed to go _home,_ but Dooku couldn't stand the thought that _that_ would mean Dooku could no longer see him.

Something drastic had to be done.

 

* * *

 

Obi-Wan still felt tears running down his cheeks, still felt utterly demolished inside, and Dooku's words were a bit too difficult to comprehend just now, but his mind  _was_ beginning to connect the people frozen in the doorway.

Master Mace. He didn't look that much older than he had during that last private lesson with Obi-Wan, on the Cosmic Force, a lifetime ago. Plo Koon, Obi-Wan's Finder. Obi-Wan couldn't even remember the sound of his voice, but he  _did_ remember the touch of a gentle claw, and  _kindness._ So much kindness. There was Yoda, and there was a man with long black dreadlocks and a yellow stripe across his nose crouching opposite him,  _near_ Obi-Wan, reaching a hand out, as if to a terrified animal.

Obi-Wan stared at him, felt like he should know him—

“Quin?” he rasped as a name surfaced.

Tears started to dark eyes, and the face they belonged to crumpled.

Anakin was starting to get nervous, and moved to reach Obi-Wan. “Obi-Wan—”

And then there was hell.

 

* * *

 

With Maul dead, none of the Dathomir seemed to have stakes in this anymore, but Dooku realized too late he should have anticipated  _this._

“ _Brother!_ ” Savage screamed as he flew out of nowhere, impaling Maul's apprentice from behind.

The scream that tore out of Dooku's grandson didn't even sound human, a screeching, animal wail.

Dooku was already moving, slaughtering Savage—

Utter silence fell across the room as Dooku deactivated his saber, the Jedi halfway across the room to intercept, but seeing they were not needed they froze again, not wanting to scare the breaking being huddled over the dying man.

“Help him,” Obi-Wan choked, looking up to Dooku with pleading, desperate eyes.

Dooku looked at the ragged hole in the apprentice's chest, his shoulders slumping.

If he had  _sensed_ the imbecile beforehand—

Dooku closed his eyes against the anger. He hadn't, even with it right behind him, cloaked by Nightsister magicks to allow Savage his vengeance.

Except the apprentice wasn't the one who had Maul's blood quite literally all over his hands and clothes.

Dooku couldn't heal the golden-eyed boy.

This was something he could not spare Obi-Wan, much as he wished he could.

 

* * *

 

It didn't hurt.

Oh, that first strike had, and his mouth had fallen open and his back arched, but no sound had come out, just a single breath.

But now he lay on the floor, and felt Maul's blood seeping through his clothes, and for the first time, Anakin was  _glad_ to have blood on him,  _this blood._ Maul was  _dead,_ he would  _never_ hurt Obi-Wan again. And Obi-Wan was  _alive._

“Stay with me, stay with me,” Obi-Wan pleaded, his hands trying to  _keep_ Anakin there—

_I'm dying, aren't I?_

“Are— are you free?” Anakin asked, the words difficult to form.

Obi-Wan's face twisted and he glanced up, first to the Sith, then to the Jedi. “I don't know. I don't know what's happening. Don't leave me. Anakin, please—”

“Yes,” the old Sith spoke up, voice deep and cutting through the light fog in Anakin's mind. “Obi-Wan is free.”

Anakin smiled, and he could  _feel_ the gold bleeding out of his eyes, it stung and it hurt, but he was glad that here, at the end, he didn't have to die with those horrid,  _horrid_ stains of what he'd  _done._ “We got out,” he whispered. “We got out.”

Obi-Wan's hand stopped trying to fix the wound, and instead one came up to hold the side of Anakin's face. His sobs quieted, and that horrible,  _awful_ look of understanding took the place of his desperation.

Anakin had seen that look before, the one that recognized his inability to prevent the coming pain. The one that meant endurance.

_I hope this is the last heartbreak he has,_ Anakin thought blearily. He was tired.  _Really_ tired.

“I love you,” Obi-Wan murmured, his voice so full of pain. “You saved me, all those dark days, you were always  _there._ And now you're not going to  _be_ there. I'll be alone.”

Anakin wanted to comfort him, wanted to promise that wasn't true, but he had no air left. Instead, he drew Obi-Wan's hand, slick with Maul's blood, to his lips and kissed the knuckles.

_You freed yourself._

_I love you, Dad._

With Obi-Wan's face still in his view, Anakin Skywalker fell asleep.

 

* * *

 

He couldn't move from this spot.

Obi-Wan stared at the feet of those who had moved close, but he found he no longer had the strength to fight.

The last thirteen years had been long, and he just didn't have anything more to give.

He wasn't sure how he ended up in the Temple, but that's where he found himself, after a time.

In the Halls of Healing, sitting on a bed, while a pink-skinned Mon Calamari examined him. She had tears in her eyes, but he did not know her. There were so many people. Not in this room, now, but between here and everywhere else. And Mace was in the room—

But Anakin was not.

And that lack was enough to drain the soul out of him, and fill him with a still, silent panic as well.

And then he wasn't in the Halls of Healing, he was in a chamber that looked utterly foreign, though Mace was clearly watching him to see if he remembered. He accepted it as Mace guided him into a bed, drew the covers over him, and physically restrained himself from brushing back Obi-Wan's hair.

They wanted him to sleep. And maybe Obi-Wan shouldn't have been able to, maybe that was the  _correct_ thing, the decent thing, after the loss of  _Anakin,_ but Obi-Wan found himself unable to do anything  _but._

So he slept.

 

* * *

 

When he awoke, Dooku was there, sitting by his side.

Obi-Wan wondered if he was expected to say anything, but Dooku asked no questions, and did not speak. So after a few long moments, Obi-Wan fell asleep again.

He did not see the silent tear that slipped down the old, weathered cheek.

 

* * *

 

Things had been happening, while Obi-Wan barely existed. He gathered that. Some war was being settled, and because of it Dooku was being given access to Obi-Wan, and people seemed to see that Obi-Wan needed something, someone.

He needed Anakin, but none of them could give him that.

He didn't have  _the_ routine, anymore. And he didn't have  _the_ plan. He didn't even have his research about Dathomir.

Though perhaps  _that_ was for the best. None of the information had ever changed how Anakin felt, but Obi-Wan had found understanding in those pages. Obi-Wan's experience had not been that much different than that of the average Dathomiri male, located by scent and then forced to fight in a group against the choosing Nightsister. The one who survived was soundly beaten until he surrendered utterly, and in the process, everyone he had grown up with and loved died by the hand of that Nightsister.

A Nightbrother would have known to yield instantly after that surrender, though, to allow the rough and painful claiming to run its course and allow the tormented Nightbrother to reach the gentle and nurturing side of the Nightsister on the other side.

Obi-Wan hadn't discovered that more gentle side of his mate for years.

It was customary to keep the males all but prisoner, there simply to provide pleasure and children, and while Obi-Wan hated how it felt, what it had  _done_ to him, he recognized the context of Maul as a being.

_That_ is what he had been taught of love, and it hadn't been made better by being raised by Sidious. Unlike Anakin, Maul had been  _without_ someone loving nearby,  _without_ being important to someone Sidious valued.

And Obi-Wan had watched a Sith raise Anakin,  _with_ Anakin having someone to turn to, when the day was over, to help wash the blood from his hands, to hold him while he screamed and wept.

As a child, Maul had no one.

It was right to miss Anakin. But Obi-Wan found it difficult to accept that he—

There was  _some_ of Maul that—

Not the Maul of seven years earlier, or even of six. But the Maul of the last three years or so? The one who had been merciless with Anakin, but no longer punished him with visceral pain? The one who had...

The one who had fallen in love with Obi-Wan.

Because  _that_ was what Obi-Wan had seen his eyes as he lay dying, staring up at Obi-Wan, bewildered and betrayed. Love. Bright and fierce and desperate and true.

He  _could_ have slain Obi-Wan, avenged himself, done what any self-respecting Sith or Nightbrother would have done. But he  _hadn't._

Sobs shuddered up from Obi-Wan's core, and though he didn't regret killing Maul, he  _had_ to get  _away_ ...

He was  _grieving_ and he didn't know what to think. Would Anakin despise him for it? Wasn't this exactly what Anakin feared would happen? That Obi-Wan would  _fall_ for him?

_Had_ he?

But was it so wrong to want a world where Maul had understood what  _consent_ meant? A world where Maul could have loved him _and_ allowed him his freedom? Because Obi-Wan wanted  _that_ world, and he wanted Anakin back, and oh,  _Force_ , please—

Movement had him looking up to find Dooku stepping to his side and sitting down on the edge of the bed.

Obi-Wan wanted to stifle his tears, but he couldn't find the energy.

He didn't want anyone to know what was happening in his head.

“It is not weakness,” Dooku murmured.

Obi-Wan didn't dare look at him. The healers hadn't dared remove the collar yet, with Obi-Wan so fragile.

The removal of the collar was going to be brutal, and if he wasn't more stable, it might kill him outright.

“He...  _could_ have chosen to change. He didn't. I had to get away. I couldn't live like that.” Oh. There were words. He simply hadn't talked the last... however long it had been. Days? Weeks? “But I wish he'd  _changed._ ”  _Did I love him? I don't know?_

“You don't have to justify or define, Obi-Wan. It is acceptable to simply grieve.”

Obi-Wan risked a look up into Dooku's face. The gold had faded, leaving familiar brown eyes where Obi-Wan could  _see_ them, and it made him lose the last of his composure, curl into Dooku, and weep as his grandmaster held him close.

 

* * *

 

Obi-Wan kept breathing. Putting one foot in front of the other, even when he wasn't sure where he was headed, just waiting for the fog and hell to clear so he could regain his bearings.

Eating meals when the healers wanted him to. Taking the pills the healers specified, when they were specified. Getting out of bed and walking. Sometimes trying to talk.

He began to wonder if he had just forgotten  _how_ to communicate. Was it possible that he and Anakin and Maul had some... hyper-specialized way of using words that made it so that people Obi-Wan used to know and love couldn't seem to understand his words now?

And it went the other way, too.

Yoda and Mace didn't insist on talking. They simply were  _there,_ and Obi-Wan appreciated it, he  _did,_ and Quinlan was similar. But there were others, his former peers, and they... they tried to talk about what they were doing in their lives. Their missions, their padawans. Obi-Wan tried to find meaning in it, in any of it, but it seemed a coded mystery, locked away out of reach.

He wondered if Anakin would have understood them.

The pain began to change. Obi-Wan didn't think it hurt less, exactly, but the  _type_ of pain shifted. There were many types of pain, after all, that could be of a similar intensity. The pain of skin tearing. The pain of a bone bending too far, that split-second of  _knowing_ before it snapped, and the fire of that bone after it  _did_ break. There was the pain of something sharp cutting into flesh, like a knife—

There were many types of pain.

Obi-Wan's pain switched from one to another. It was slow, and when he looked back, he couldn't quite say he felt  _better,_ for this new type of pain could scream just as loudly, but it allowed him to do some things that the fog the first type of pain brought had made impossible.

Whether the people who loved him tried talking of safe things, or simply remained silent, Obi-Wan could feel their acceptance. They understood he'd passed through something that didn't  _have_ words, and they wanted to meet him wherever he was willing to meet them, instead of demanding it be in some specific  _way._

The Temple felt safe. He didn't feel frightened for his well-being here.

He didn't want his life to just stop going forward, to pool where it had melted until the day old age claimed his final breath.

He didn't want to be isolated from people the rest of his life. And... maybe it would be nice to go on missions, some day. Maybe start working on finishing his training.

Earn that knighthood, for Qui-Gon. For Anakin.

For...

For himself.

 

* * *

 

Once Obi-Wan said it was time, Anakin's body was brought out of freeze.

Dooku stood with Obi-Wan, watching as Anakin's body was committed to light and fire, and as he was granted, posthumously, the rank of Jedi Knight.

Obi-Wan trembled, tears streaming down his face, but there had been a knife-edge of  _painful,_ cruelly painful  _happiness_ within him as well, that the Force could reveal, but could not seem to alleviate.

_You promised Qui-Gon, didn't you. That you would see to it he was made a Knight._

When it was done, Obi-Wan gave a nod, as if something had been finished.

And only a few days later, it became clear exactly what.

 

* * *

 

There were simply too many people.

Obi-Wan felt both defeated and tired when he realized it. He had been lingering, trying for Anakin, but that promise was now kept. Anakin slept with those honored and remembered by future generations, his name was engraved with those who died in the line of duty.

It felt needed, to see his name there, beside Qui-Gon's and his own.

It was  _seeing_ his own name there that seemed to quiet the desire that had been itching within him before.

_My mission-taking days are over._

And while he was determined to pick himself up...

He couldn't do it here. If he couldn't handle how many  _people_ there were here  _before_ the collar came off? His fingers brushed over the edges of his name, carved into the wall of the dead.

_Yes. I_ would _die._

So he approached Yoda and Windu, and tried to explain.

“Need somewhere with Force quiet, you do. Anticipated this, we have. A home with him on Serenno, Dooku has offered.”

Mace nodded. “If you desire to pursue further training, someone could come out to visit, and some things Dooku could teach you himself. But there will not be many people there.”

“Thank you,” Obi-Wan whispered, relieved they didn't require an explanation he wasn't sure how to give.

They wanted to knight him, before he went. Even if it was just a private ceremony, with Yoda and Dooku.

Obi-Wan had recoiled from the idea. Yes. He wanted his knighthood, but he hadn't  _earned_ it yet. Just coming home... that wasn't enough.

They seemed to think he had passed through trials of spirit and flesh that no being could honestly deny, that the Force itself bore witness that he had the grace and kindness of a knight, but Obi-Wan doubted it.

So he would pursue his training eventually. Just not yet.

He had to face his collar first.

 

* * *

 

Dooku brought him home.

Serenno was beautiful, and Yoda had been speaking truth when he said it was quiet. Dooku had a handful of living staff, and no one else lived near, for miles upon countless miles.

The sprawling gardens with their soft fountains and streams, the gentle wild creatures with little fear of man, the quiet halls of a mansion that had more open doorways than actual  _doors—_

Yes.

He could be a quiet person, here.

The day he was ready to attempt the removal of the collar, a healer and Yoda shipped in from Coruscant.

Yoda waited outside, just in case, and Obi-Wan lay down with his head on Dooku's lap, pale and braced for just how awful it was going to be.

It was nearly a year since Maul and Anakin had died. Nearly fourteen since Obi-Wan had last touched the Force.

_If it kills me... thank you, grandmaster._

Obi-Wan closed his eyes and gave a nod.

The healer removed the collar, and then time  _ceased_ , Obi-Wan writhed and screamed—

It was burning him alive, a fire in his blood, and he wanted to  _die,_ it hurt so viciously—

The collar closed over his throat again and he shuddered, Dooku's hand gently stroking his hair as he tried to recover.

Tears of frustration burned Obi-Wan's eyes. He had missed the Force like an aching, out-of-reach  _limb_ before, like part of his  _soul_ had been closed off to him. Now that need to have it back was  _worse,_ nearly unbearable, and yet he was not at all sure he wanted to walk the slow, agonizing road to being able to feel it again.

He didn't know if he had the courage to try again.

According to the healer, it had been three minutes.

He could have sworn it had been hours.

To build back his ability to cope, he would have to step into the acid again and again, and he didn't know if his mind and exhaustion could take it.

It was weeks before he asked to try again.

Then again.

And again.

 

* * *

 

It was hideous to witness, but Dooku did what he could to lessen the fear of it for Obi-Wan.

Obi-Wan was the one who would bring it up. And while his schedule was not regular, he did not give up, and he could tolerate fifteen minutes of the Force now.

It still rent him apart in a way that made Dooku wipe away silent tears when Obi-Wan wasn't looking, but Obi-Wan continued to place one foot in front of the other, no matter how long it took to drag a foot forward.

Dooku looked forward to the day when Obi-Wan could accept the Force in without being burned. The Force _was_ quiet on Serenno, a gentleness that Obi-Wan would need. Coruscant had far too much _life,_ so _very much_ life, and the Force danced and screamed and laughed and cried with it all.

Here, there was less to overwhelm.

Obi-Wan still looked lost at times, bewildered and silent. Sometimes he tried to express what he was experiencing in words, and other times, he couldn't find the energy for the effort.

Some days went by where other than a quietly murmured, “Good morning, Obi-Wan,” or “Sleep well, Obi-Wan,” no other words were spoken.

And for Dooku, burned and weary as he was from years of the darkness corroding his heart?

He found Obi-Wan's quiet presence soothing.

 

* * *

 

It took Obi-Wan ten years of intermittent study, of steps, one after the other, before he felt he was ready to accept the title the Council had been ready to give him at any point.

Silent tears slipped from his eyes as he accepted his knighthood, as he tried to imagine Qui-Gon and Anakin being proud of him.

He never did go on missions, and only rarely did he leave Serenno at all.

He tended a small collection of roses he had gathered, spending hours caring for them, and researching new varieties. It was something that could put a gentle smile on his face.

His grandfather didn't seem too surprised when Obi-Wan began to hybridize his own versions, patiently guiding the growth of the new plants.

Obi-Wan gave only some of the new flowers names that others were allowed to know.

There was a deep purple one called _Forceloss._ A pink the color of lung tissue called _Breathe._

There was a red one with dark, nearly brown striations, that had cruel thorns, and didn't even smell sweet. Sometimes, the rare visitor would ask why it existed.

Obi-Wan never answered. Certainly didn't explain that stunted and deformed as it was, that particular variety of rose bush was dear to him. It had been created by accident, when he'd been trying for something else, but the moment he stared into one of those blooms he'd known its name.

_Maul._

There were several  _Maul_ bushes in Obi-Wan's rose garden, even though they would never be sought after the way some of his others were.

In the center of the garden was a rose bush that never bloomed at all. The buds would form, a deep blue with leaf-covers that tinged golden at the edges—

But that's all it ever reached. A brief matter of hours after forming, the buds would wither and fall to the ground. Sometimes, tears would form in Obi-Wan's eyes when he saw them, and sometimes he would simply smile, the expression appearing sad to those outside.

It was a bit more than sadness, though. It was remembering a child who fought to stay kind against every horrific measure brought to bear against him. It was remembering the teenager who slept beside him night after awful, empty night. It was remembering the twenty-two-year-old, so full of power and determination.

Obi-Wan caressed the leaves of that bush with gentle fingers. There would only ever be just that one  _Anakin_ bush. Obi-Wan didn't know why it mattered so much to him that it be the case, but it  _did._

Surrounded by  _Fear_ and  _Scheme_ and  _Hope_ and  _Despair_ and  _Breathe_ and  _Forceloss_ and  _Freedom_ and  _Lonely_ and  _Forcefound_ and  _Grief_ and  _Loved..._

Obi-Wan Kenobi sank to his knees, lifted his face skyward, and inhaled the scent of every experience of his life, a bittersweet breeze that caressed his face and filled visitors with a jumble of emotions, though they rarely understood why.

Obi-Wan closed his eyes, allowed it to wash over him, not fighting any of it as it whispered around him.

The Force had been returned to him, and within it rested the best of Anakin, and everything Maul could have been.

_See me, Anakin. I am free._

_I am free._

 

 


End file.
